


Rosy

by fEl24601



Series: Ruby Red [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fEl24601/pseuds/fEl24601
Summary: Set in the year following Red Letter Days.Ruby is at Watford. Simon and Baz spend an evening at home.





	Rosy

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by some fan art I can't seem to track down again and a suggestion to see some domestic snowbaz while Ruby is at school. (If anyone knows which piece of art I mean, I'd love to add the link here! It's adorable.)

SIMON

 

Ruby’s room was a fucking mess.

To be clear, it was spotless when she last was home, before she went back to Watford. She was a tremendously tidy child who deeply valued order and reason. Her room was usually the cleanest in the flat by a long shot. But then I said that I could pack her bags for the trip, that she didn’t have to worry about it unless there was anything with her at Watford that she wanted to bring along. The laundry had to get done beforehand, anyway. She wouldn’t have had the chance in the two days she was home, and she was eleven so I would have had to double check it all anyway to make sure she actually had what she needed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t try. Baz loved to say that I was a disaster and a mess and a nightmare and all those other charming compliments, but honestly, being a dad was hard and little girl clothes multiply when you turn your back and folding is a lie made up by clothing stores. Probably.

But the suitcase got packed. Eventually. I was more than a little proud of myself (Baz would be too, I was sure) at the sheer quantity of shit I managed to fit in the thing. Ruby would be well stocked for a trip three times the length of the one we were taking. All that was left to do was put the room back in order, because tracking down my daughter’s favourite pyjamas and lucky socks and the jumper that Auntie Penny gave her for Christmas and comfy shoes for the plane and everything else meant that just about everything came out of her wardrobe and drawers, and was lying strewn about the room in bright and sequinned heaps.

I set to tidying up, eye on my spelled watch and counting down the minutes until Baz would be home from work. (It told time, same as any. The spell was some tricky and impressive magic that hid my wings and tail whenever I wore it. Brilliant. All Baz’s idea, bless him.)

I was only about halfway through it all when Baz stomped in and somehow made my heart swell from across the flat despite how roughly he shut the door behind him.

“Simon?” he called, and I heard him heading to the kitchen.

“In here! Just a moment,” I said, fighting a very soft little turtleneck back onto its hanger. Good enough.

I followed the sounds of heavy items being dropped down onto various surfaces and found Baz unloading huge stacks of paper and books onto the dining table.

“Did you borrow half the library?” I asked, leaning in close for a kiss. He slid an arm around me and held me near while he pulled the last few documents out.

“It’s the eighth years’ essays,” he complained. “Same ones we all did, the ones that nearly killed us. Well lucky me, now I get to mark _forty of them.”_

 _“_ Ugh.” I grimaced, and Baz chuckled into my hair.

“Indeed.”

“Tea, then?”

“Please.” He kissed me again, quick and sweet, and I slipped out of his arm to put the kettle on.

“Are you starting on them tonight?” I asked as he walked behind me toward the bedroom. I reached up to get our mugs from the cupboard.

“Probably not,” came his voice, muffled and soft from our room. “Too tired.”

This gave me pause. I glanced at my watch again and, of course, it was barely 4:30. Baz Pitch was one of the most notoriously organized and on-top-of-his-shit people I’d ever known. Him and Penny both. I’d never known him to not get started on work the very day it was assigned, and finish it with days if not weeks to spare. (I usually did things a day in advance, maybe two if I had a date with a chimera or fucking troll or something looming for the next day.)

I poured the tea as Baz came back out in lounge bottoms and one of my jumpers. And _wow._ I narrowly avoided pouring boiling water all over my hands. This is Baz, remember. He was the type to wear actual jeans and a proper shirt while watching Netflix. He was in the midst of pulling his hair up into a knot to keep it out of his face, and I caught a twinge of pain in his features as he did so.

“Baz?” I said, as I handed him his mug (loaded down with milk and sugar, practically candy. Though nothing compared to his fucking Starbucks order.) “You all right?”

“Peachy,” he said, holding his mug in both hands and breathing in the steam. “Just my neck’s stiff.” He gave it a tentative roll as he spoke, tilting his head to the side and wincing.

Well, that wouldn’t do. “Go sit,” I instructed. “Let me rub it out for you.”

It was a true testament to his discomfort and exhaustion that he merely raised an eyebrow at my words. “Merlin,” I said. “No comment? Sit down, you’re not yourself.”

He grinned a little and followed as I pointed to his chair. He sank right down into the leather and set his tea on the side table. I propped myself on the armrest and he leaned full-on against my side.

“Go on then,” he said, voice too soft to be imperious. I set to work with my fingers, massaging his neck and shoulders and smoothing out the knots and tension. And Merlin, he was bad. I helped out my fingers with occasional input from my lips, fleeting and feather-light on his temple, his cheekbone, as I pressed firm into his aching muscles. He grimaced with pain and I kissed it away, slowly but surely banishing my husband’s hurt. The tea sat forgotten.

 

BAZ

 

Simon’s fingers were bloody _magic._ And yes, ha ha, he was a mage. And Crowley, had he ever put those fingers to good use in the past. But in that moment, in our living room, on some inconsequential Thursday, Simon Snow made fucking miracles with his fingers.

It hurt in that brilliant way it does when someone gives you an expert massage, and Simon knew me well enough to read my twitches and tenses and knew when to push, when to prod, when to move on and circle back. And his hands were so warm, so sure. And his _lips._ As though he knew it was coming, whenever he hit a very tender spot he was already there with a delicate kiss. What did I ever do to deserve Simon Snow(-Pitch)?

I’ve no idea at what point my eyes slipped shut, only that eventually I caught myself sighing blissfully as my head tipped further and further into Simon’s side. I curved all the way into him, resting along him where he sat snug against me on the armrest of my chair. My shoulders slowly pressed back into his arm, coaxing his fingers further from my sore neck until his hand gently settled against my skin and stilled. I felt his chest move in time with my breaths. Crowley, he was so warm.

 

*     *     *

 

“Hey, Pen,” Simon whispered. “No— sorry. Baz is asleep.”

I wasn’t asleep. Not by a long shot, and I hadn’t been at any point. Even better than asleep, I was in that blissed-out total relaxation state wherein you are just as comfortable and dream-like as if you were asleep, but conscious enough to appreciate the peace and coziness of the moment. Half-consciousness. Waking sleep, perhaps. Who knows. That perfect little realm of not-unconsciousness. My eyes were heavy as thick wool blankets, and Simon’s warmth radiated straight through me. How long had we been sitting there?

“No, his head’s on my arm. I can’t just move.”

Simon bloody Snow-Pitch. The beautiful, breathtaking bastard. 

Penny’s tinny little voice crackled through Simon’s mobile. “Nicks and slicks, Simon, it’s so weird for you to whisper over the phone. Just move him off or something and go to another room.”

“Wh— I! Penny! What! I won’t!” Simon blustered, shocked and (offended?) distraught. I fought every tiny muscle in my face to not betray my grin.

Penny sighed. Or scoffed. Difficult to say. “Well, how are things? All packed for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Simon whispered. “Can’t wait. Ruby especially. She might miss you more than I do.”

“I might miss her more than I miss you.”

“Rude.”

“Micah’s going to pick you lot up at the airport. I should be home from work just before you get to the house.”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“How long have you been stuck being Baz’s pillow? Just move him!”

“Fuck, no. This is the best. I’ll be his pillow as long as it takes. If he sleeps through the flight tomorrow evening I’ll change our booking from right here.”

Simon. Bloody. Snow. I was torn between the desire to never move and desperately wanting to leap up and snog the shit out of him.

“Disgusting. Wake him up eventually. You have a _child_ waiting for you to pick her up at Watford tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Pen. Miss you.”

“Miss you too, Si.”

I heard him hang up, and felt my heart rise straight up my throat and nearly choke me as his head tipped down to rest lightly on mine. Incrementally, I turned my head to press my face closer into his shoulder, breathe in his sweet, homey scent.

“I love you,” I murmured. I kissed whatever was nearest to me, likely his collarbone. My eyes were still too heavy to open, my limbs too warm and melty to even consider moving.

“Sorry,” Simon whispered. I felt his lips moving against my hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I smiled into his shirt. “Hush. You’re perfect.”

A kiss on my forehead. “How’s the neck?”

I gave a tentative tilt, rolling out my shoulders just slightly. “Wonderful. Thank you.” And bless his heart, Simon just snuggled in closer to me and wrapped me in his warmth. Crowley, how long had he been sitting on the armrest of a chair just to keep me comfy?

It pained me-- physically pained me, and it was a deep and profound injustice-- but I opened my eyes and sat up properly and freed my husband from an eternity as my pillow.

“I suppose we should get something to eat,” I suggested, half-shocked that Simon’s stomach hadn’t rumbled and disrupted the mood yet. It was half five already.

Simon nodded, standing up and stretching. I stared at that beautiful little spot where his shirt rode up over his hips. “I was gonna cook, but nah. Takeaway? We can watch something mindless and you can knock through an essay or two.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I should, shouldn’t I.”

Simon took my hands and pulled me to my feet. “If you start now,” he said, low and beautiful, lovely blue eyes swallowing me up, “you could stop for the night by the time the food gets here. We could just lie on the couch and watch Bake Off.”

And Crowley, my knees just about went weak. What a tantalizing offer. I worried my lip and glanced over at the mountain of to-do on the dining table.

“You paint a pretty picture, Simon Snow,” I said.

“Snow-Pitch,” he said, as he always did, and I kissed him with a grin on my face. My hands cradled his head, one in his soft hair and the other cupping below his ear. He laughed, breathless, against my lips after a long minute, but I didn’t let him go until my lungs nearly burst.

“Fine,” I said, catching my breath. Simon caught my lower lip in his teeth, and my train of thought was thoroughly derailed again. “ _Fine,”_ I repeated when my lips were finally free again. “I’ll mark an essay. Maybe two. You order food.”

“As soon as it arrives you stop working,” Simon said.

“Agreed.”

I kissed him one last time, _quickly,_ despite my laughing husband gripping my waist and tugging me close.

 

SIMON

By the time the food arrived the ‘done’ pile was three essays high and Baz was back to his usual self, mercurial and snippy as ever. He drifted over like a cartoon bloodhound when I unpacked all the containers of curry onto the coffee table, and we ate our body weight in food with our legs pressed together on the couch. I queued up Bake Off reruns while Baz checked us in for our flight to America on his laptop. Ruby’s packed suitcase was perched between ours by the coat closet.

Baz fell asleep on me again while we watched hours of telly. I hated to move him, so we stayed there until he blinked awake around midnight. He kissed me so hard I saw stars.

Merlin, life was good.


End file.
